the station yard; it was seven minutes to one when he turned into it. The traffic at that time of night had been negligible. He drove slowly round the yard, his lights illuminating the undergrowth that was encroaching on the pot-holed tarmac. He backed into a secluded corner where he could watch the entrance, and turned out his lights.
The moon slid out from behind a thin cloud curtain to light up the ribbon of road leading uphill from the car park and out into the country. It was nearly full tonight. The last time he’d watched the moon like this had been in the Iraqi desert. He and the others had been waiting for it to disappear before moving off. He was trying to recall the names of his companions that night when he heard the sound of a car approaching. At first he thought the vehicle was going to pass by, but at the last moment it slowed and turned into the car park. Dunbar was momentarily blinded by its headlights as it swung round, then turned slightly to the side. He switched on his own lights and saw that it was a darkgreen Land-Rover. He got out, locked his car and hurried over to join Douglas.
‘Found it all right, then?’ asked Douglas.
‘No problem.’
They drove in silence until Douglas said, ‘That’s it coming up on our left. We’ll drive past. There’s a farm turn-off about three hundred yards ahead. We’ll leave the Land-Rover there.’
Dunbar saw the headlights pick out the sign ‘Vane Farm Animal Welfare Institute’ as they passed. He smiled wryly.
‘That is the place?’ asked Douglas, sounding a little worried.
‘Oh yes, that’s the place. I was just taken with the name, that’s all.’
‘They’re all doing it these days,’ said Douglas, catching on. ‘I suppose it would be asking for trouble to call it Vivisection House or the Institute for Cutting up Wee Furry Things for No Good Reason.’
‘Quite so.’
‘What do they work on there?’
‘Pigs.’
‘Not quite as appealing as bunny rabbits in the emotional stakes, but I guess it doesn’t matter too much to the nutters.’
‘Has there been much trouble with animal activists up here?’ asked Dunbar.
‘A fair bit. They burned down a lab over in Edinburgh a few months ago and a couple of researchers got parcel bombs sent to them. They’re going to kill somebody soon.’
Douglas turned the Land-Rover off the road and parked it a little way down the farm track. He turned out the lights and said, ‘Time to go to work.’ He reached behind him and lifted over a small rucksack and two black balaclavas. He handed one to Dunbar and both men put them on.
‘We’ll go back by the field, hugging the hedgerow until we reach the farm perimeter, then head north along the wire to the northeast corner and go through the wire there. Okay?’
‘Understood.’
Douglas handed Dunbar a pair of wire-cutters and said, ‘I’ll bridge the circuit. You cut the wire.’
They locked the vehicle and slipped quickly off the track down a slight embankment and into the field, where they courted the shadow of the roadside hedge as they made their way back to Vane Farm. Douglas, who led the way, held up his hand and both men dropped to their knees. Dunbar could see the farm gate-house. Through the large, well-lit windows he could see two men. They appeared to be reading.
Douglas gestured to his right and Dunbar followed him as they made their way to the furthest corner of the fence. When they reached the corner-post Douglas removed his rucksack and took out a pair of cables, each with a large crocodile clip on either end. He connected them both in the form of big loops to the fence and Dunbar cut the wire at two places inside the loops so that the electrical circuit was not broken. They separated the severed wires and crawled through the gap, Douglas first, followed by Dunbar after he had re-packed the wire-cutters and passed Douglas’s rucksack through to him.
Douglas signed that they crawl on their bellies from here on. Dunbar felt this was being a bit over-cautious but he was happy to have a companion who was inclined this way rather than the other. He complied without comment. They crawled side by side up to the main building, using their elbows to propel them over the rough ground.
From their position just short of the main door they could see the gate-house. One of the guards was sitting reading a newspaper, facing in their direction. If he looked up while they were unlocking the door, he would see them. Douglas looked at his watch and whispered, ‘Let’s wait a bit. See if he moves.’
Minutes passed and the guard showed no sign of becoming bored with his paper. Douglas and Dunbar exchanged grimaces but steeled themselves to continue the wait. Another ten minutes had gone by before the guard made a play of folding up his paper and picking up a kettle. He got up from his chair and disappeared from view.
‘Let’s do it!’ said Douglas, getting to his feet and running up to the door to insert his card. He punched in the number code while Dunbar looked anxiously towards the gate-house, fearing the imminent return of the guard. The lock stayed shut.
‘C’mon, c’mon!’ muttered Douglas as he re-inserted the card and tried again. Still nothing happened.
‘We’re running out of time!’ hissed Dunbar through his teeth.
Douglas tried once more with the same result just as Dunbar said, ‘He’s back!’
Both men dived headlong to the ground and looked towards the gate-house to see if they had been spotted. The guard opened his paper and sat down.
‘What do we do now?’ whispered Dunbar.
Douglas looked towards the gate-house and said, ‘We could take them?’
Dunbar shook his head. ‘Let’s take a look round the building. There might be another way in.’
‘No windows, no other doors,’ said Douglas. ‘I reccied it, remember?’
‘Humour me,’ said Dunbar. He led the way round to the back of the building, where they were out of sight of the gate-house. They crawled along the back wall, which was featureless apart from a large, square pipe about halfway along.
‘What do you suppose that is?’ Dunbar asked.
‘Some kind of waste pipe?’
They continued along the back wall, still without finding any means of access. The same applied to the end wall. They backed off to see as much of the roof as possible. There were no skylights or unshielded ventilation shafts.
‘I told you,’ said Douglas.
‘Let’s take a closer look at the waste pipe,’ said Dunbar.
The pipe comprised riveted metal sections and was about two feet square. Scraping away the earth round its base, Dunbar uncovered two metal drain covers. Douglas saw what he was about and gave him a hand to raise one of them. The smell that emanated made them both gag.
‘Jesus!’ exclaimed Douglas.
‘Pig slurry,’ said Dunbar. ‘Let’s have the torch.’
Douglas handed him a long rubber-shielded torch and he inspected the pit. The end of the pipe was clear of the slurry. He reached down to check that there was no grille over the end. It was clear. He straightened up and said, ‘I think we could get up the inside of that pipe.’
Douglas screwed up his face at the thought but had to agree it was possible and there appeared to be no other option. He looked down at the slurry pit and asked, ‘How deep do you think it is?’
‘Only one way to find out.’ Dunbar eased himself over the edge of the pit and lowered his legs into the foul morass. It had just covered his knees when he said, ‘I’ve touched bottom.’
‘I’ll have to stash this,’ said Douglas, taking off his rucksack.
Dunbar squatted down so that he could get into the end of the pipe. The smell threatened to overpower him in the confined space as he entered, arms first, then his head and shoulders. He straightened up and tried to find hand-holds on the slimy interior walls. It was difficult, but he found that there was enough space for his fingers to curl over the inner portion of the box joints. If he could pull himself up another three feet, he’d be into the horizontal section of the pipe and could crawl up to the end.
‘Are you okay?’ asked Douglas.
‘So far.’
